


Ars Amatoria

by Eatsscissors



Category: The Vampire Diaries
Genre: Begging, F/M, comm: kink_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eatsscissors/pseuds/Eatsscissors
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please," Damon whispers when he's poised above her and will never want her more than this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ars Amatoria

"Please," Damon whispers when he's poised above her and will never want her more than this. There is so much blood suffusing his face and running just beneath the delicate skin of his neck that Katherine wants nothing more than another taste, even knowing that she's pushed him as far as he can go tonight. He's going to be pale and tired and struggling to pull charm over his excuses when the morning comes back, and fighting not to look at her the whole way. (He'll still look, and the elder Salvatore will still fume and disapprove, and Katherine will still be the demure maiden who would be scandalized beyond her life to know the effect that she can have on men and their desires.) She will hide her smile into her handkerchief and suggest a game, another one. When she's bored, she will collect her winnings and walk away.

(Stefan will be pale and tired, too, of course. He won't know why, and neither will his father. Damon will guess, perhaps, but Katherine is confident that he is still too drunk on her to raise a fuss, privately or publicly.)

"What do you want from me?" Katherine murmurs to Damon as she's taking her own turn over him the next time, Emily poised guard outside the bedroom just in case Katherine should need her with no time to spare. She doesn't suspect it--both of the boys are too firmly within her hands by one means or another--but she saw the Renaissance come to Northern Europe while her siblings still had red-black pox scars healing upon their cheeks. She herself had been spared the disfiguring sickness, but had a hated thing growing in her womb and a hated man sharing her bed, and the evil eye being thrown upon her as she walked down the street. She knows how quickly circumstances can change.

"What do you want?" Katherine repeats when Damon's only answer is a hiss drawn out, unwillingly, from between tightly clenched teeth. It's fair enough; she has his wrists lashed to the posts of the bed with his own belt and her own sash, an initiative that would have shocked him if she had first suggested it weeks, days before. He's learning. Damon's already pale, even without blood loss or turning. Of course he is: a tan is something belonging to soldiers and the _lower classes_, one of which he's never had to be and the other of which he's doing his best to forget that he ever was. The things that Katherine could tell him.

"Everything," Damon finally whispers. In the dark, Katherine thinks that she would be able to see the steel-shine of his eyes even had she still been human. "Anything. Whatever you want to give me, _please_."

"I can give you everything, yes," Katherine murmurs as she guides him into her, leans down and digs her teeth hard into the side of his neck. It's been too long for her to remember the texture of food in her mouth the way that humans experience it, save for moments like this: she always thinks that biting into human flesh is like feeling the skin of a slightly overripe fruit giving way.

*  
Her head is swimming with vervain, but she thinks that she hears him begging for her life, or maybe it's one of the others whispering to themselves. She's not sure, and in any case it doesn't matter. The guard leaning over her has a softness to his eyes that Katherine matches in her own with the ease of pulling on a new pair of gloves; he'll do.

*  
Damon's older and he's colder, both things that Katherine has heard much about throughout the past one hundred and forty years. She had wondered about what the brothers would do, once she had learned that they had turned ahead of her schedule, whether they would kill each other in a grand struggle to avenge her honor or turn upon the town to avenge her death. There would be something poetic in the both, but Katherine can't say that she isn't glad to see him here, still. Elena carries her blood and her image through the bloodline of that cancer that Katherine had been forced to bear, but Damon is her offspring more than any other creature walking the earth.

"What do you want, Katherine?" he asks her, trying so hard to sound so bored. Poor Damon, he had been born three generations too early for the existentialists; she wonders if she might not ought to have kept a better eye on him after the two great wars, see if he might have been found hanging about Paris and showing a group of students drunk on their own theories what the fleeting meaninglessness of life _really_ meant. He's always felt too deeply for his own good, and been all the more vicious for being unable to shut it off.

Katherine deliberately swings her hips as she walks towards him, not bothering to imitate Elena's body language as she did before. She watches Damon cast a thoughtful eye towards one of the white-picket fences of which this town has far exceeded the maximum tasteful limit. He means for her to see the look; they both know that he doesn't have it within him to end her, even if she didn't have nearly three hundred years on him.

"What. Do. I. Want?" Katherine muses, deliberately drawing each word out, watching Damon's eyes. She wonders if Damon's old enough yet to feel the lines of power that break up the town the way that streams and creeks break up a map. Katherine had been just barely old enough to sense them when she had been here last, but they had made Pearl restless, and Emily in particular had been unable to catch meaningful sleep.

Damon's arm blurs; he was never very good at hiding his intentions from her. Katherine grabs his wrist as he breaks off a shaft of the fence and squeezes hard enough to make the bones give way as easily as a bird's in her hand, never mind that he's bluffing and she knows it. The makeshift stake clatters down to the sidewalk, and Damon winces before he can help himself. He's not eating right. She really did think that he was more pragmatic than that. "I don't know, Damon, maybe I want to go see my family. I hear that that recessive genes have pulled off something that I just have to see to believe."

Damon's inches from her face faster than a human would have seen him move, eyes dime-glittering, and he doesn't seem to realize at first that he's not dealing with humans any longer, she has her hand about his throat. "You won't," he snarls at her. "You won't dare."

Oh, Damon. So passionate, and yet sometimes just so fantastically _stupid._ Katherine tightens her grip until Damon would have gagged had he still been human. "Damon," she informs him gently. "You ought to know by now that I dare." When Katherine releases him, Damon staggers back a step or two with a light in his eye that Katherine for once does not know how to interpret before Damon even knows himself. She gets her answer when Damon reaches for her wrist again, his grip as light and as gentle as if she really had been the human that she resembles so much, other hand coming up to lightly cup at the side of her face. Vampires don't need oxygen, but they still breathe, and his exhale is a little cold against her neck as he leans into her.

"What do you want, Katherine?" he murmurs against her neck, while she rests her hand against the back of his neck and into his hair, ready to snap his spine if he tries anything even though she knows that he won't. Damon had been angry when he had first seen her, but that's all washed away now. She had known that she could do that, with the right words and looks. The mere fact that she had chosen not to contact him for the past century and a half didn't mean that someone who played with his toys as recklessly as Damon Salvatore didn't still cast wide ripples, and his patterns aren't hard to predict once someone has been watching them for awhile.

Katherine digs her fingers against his scalp, just a little, and feels him arch into the sensation as she pretends to think. "Maybe I want things to be like they were," she murmurs back to him. "Would you do that for me, Damon? To protect your little humans here, or your brother--" He raises his head abruptly, eyes flashing, and Katherine feels her nails draw blood that neither of them pays any mind. "Would you put things back the way that they used to be?"

Damon stiffens, and for a moment Katherine thinks that he's even going to put together the gumption to point out to her that the way that things used to be were nothing more than a picture as pretty and as false as what they would be able to watch in theaters sixty years later. The grip on her wrist tightens for barely a second before his mouth is back against her ear, cool air teasing against her skin. "Don't you lay a single hand on any of them." Katherine's mouth twists. "Please," Damon continues, biting lightly at her lobe, just hard enough for her to feel that he has fangs rather than blunt human teeth. "I'll do whatever you want." It's not the same as it was before, and Katherine feels the faintest twinge of uncertainty that makes her angry at herself. She's not supposed to worry any longer. Eternity was supposed to take care of that.

"Come here," Katherine orders, voice sharp to convince both herself and him, and pulls Damon's mouth down hard. They used to kiss hard, but they never used to kiss ugly, teeth and tongue and blood, in the way that they are now. Katherine has swallowed a mouthful from the both of them before she can stop herself, still coppery but flat and obviously _dead_ when compared to a human's. She has a feeling that Damon is trying to punish her--he always was so quick to anger--and she also has the feeling that she doesn't care as she fists her hands through the front of his shirt and drags him back hard into the relative darkness of the town's nearly sweet-looking park. The moonlight is cold, but they're not much warmer.

"Please," Damon keeps whispering to her, deliberate sardonic twist to his mouth, while he all but rips her blouse off of her body. He says it even while he's biting a line down her breasts, to her navel; she can feel his voice on her skin.

"Stop it," Katherine snarls. Damon freezes immediately, looking up at her with his mouth millimeters from the waist of her jeans, eyebrows arched and a light in his eyes that wasn't there before. Maybe she should have kept a better eye on him through the years, if he was going to take eternity and just use it as an excuse to learn _irony_. She grabs his chin without caring that it hurts; he puts his hand upon her wrist and delivers his own back in kind. That he traces a pattern with his tongue from the dip of her navel down to the barrier of her jeans and back up again doesn't halt what they are doing to each other.

"Whatever I want?" Katherine whispers to him, and he looks up at her with an expression that he can't hide quickly enough, letting her know that she has him on a leash, maybe, but she hardly has him tamed any longer.

"Except for them," Damon says, not quite on his knees, not specifying who "them" is right at the moment. Elena and Stefan, yes, Katherine saw that one coming and planned for it, but if the circle is wider than that...he was always so terribly starved for affection and nearly pathetic once he got it, she might have known that it would come to this. "I'm begging you." He's gripping her thighs too hard to be anything but sincere.

"Even if I burn the rest of the town down." Katherine doesn't bother to make it into a question when it's so clearly not, and anyway, she's bored with the foreplay. "What do you want, Damon?" she asks him with a gentleness that startles him back onto his heels, hand curving against the side of his face.

"Anything," Damon answers her, and also answers her question as to whether he really could be all that different now as he was then.

"Good," Katherine answers. She hisses when Damon nearly shreds her jeans and has her on her back amongst the summer-smelling grass, tonguing at her. He was always so good at this part, too, and far more skilled from the onset than she's sure his father would have appreciated. Katherine pulls blood from the back of his neck with her nails when she comes, and claws long lines down Damon's back as he enters her only a few moments later, still feeling the desperation in his grip. Katherine turns her face up to the moon where it's visible through the trees above them, already smelling the smoke.

End


End file.
